Sleepless Nights
by SpiralClue
Summary: Insomnia. It only takes so long without sleep to start losing your mind.
1. Prolog

The more one tries to sleep the harder it gets. Counting sheep doesn't work anymore, not that it ever helped to begin with after all in order to sleep you need to relax. Counting sheep isn't relaxing enough to fall asleep, it isn't distracting enough either. In order to sleep you need to distract your mind trick it into relaxation. Most people they fall asleep counting sheep out of boredom, or else they get distracted. I made it closed to 200 before I gave up.

They say meditating helps, "they" being the doctors in which I am forced to see once a week by the court. "They" don't know shit. Think of a waterfall, it's more peaceful, more distracting, not as dull. Maybe I'm not that creative but I just couldn't picture a waterfall, so I walked to the book store and bought a book with pictures of waterfalls. Thousands of different waterfalls, I never thought there were so many. The money I spent on the book was a waste, it didn't help me sleep. I do find the pictures relaxing though.

I've purchased books on insomnia, on sleeping, even on meditating. I haven't read a single word that helps. You know when you've lied awake long enough you start to think about things, like when the last time I slept through an entire night was. I can't remember when it was, or I don't want to. I just didn't think much of my inability to sleep, when I was in school I blamed it on nightmares, and as I grew up I blamed it studying.

Then of course I was so distracted by my plans, it took so long, so much effort. I noticed it then. That I couldn't sleep, I noticed it when I got only five hours of sleep a week. Those hours of sleep, the few I did get, I was always surprised when I awoke. I may have noticed it then but I assumed it was just because I was so busy, so distracted, so invested in my plan. It didn't strike me as odd that I had trouble sleeping.

I also never found it odd when I was arrested. After all who can sleep in a cage? Behind bars awaiting a trial, who sleeps. Especially when your guilt is undeniable. It worked in my favor, it's hard to look sane when you never sleep. With bloodshot eyes and incoherent speech. Insane, I can't say I wasn't offended, but after a few nights in jail I wasn't found of the prospect of spending my entire life there.

They called me insane. I don't know why but the less I sleep the angrier I get about that fact, I got off as legally insane, psychotic. Or at least I 'had' a psychotic break. Try sleeping in asylum. You wont. I spent at least a year there, and then when I was released, because legally you can't hold someone you deem sane, well I haven't slept much since I was released. Maybe I'll go for a walk.

-Clive.


	2. Wandering

Walking doesn't really help me sleep but I do visit my parents. Well rather I make it to their graves and sit there for a while. I don't even know why I go there, it doesn't make me feel closer to them, I mean there dead, all that's under the ground is dust and dirt. Still I found myself there last night. All I did was sit there in front of those gravestones staring at them. Eventually I got angry and left, walking with no intentions, where ever the road took me.

I end up outside a café near my place, small and open twenty-four hours. You know because the best thing for an insomniac is some more caffeine at night. I can't even fathom a decent reason for a café to be open twenty-four hours, I mean besides insomniacs who the hell is up at two thirty in the morning to go get fucking coffee or tea or what else. You know that question kind of answers itself actually, I mean people run the place so I guess people who work at night but honestly that can't be that many people. Then again they probably are the only café on this side of town that never closes. I don't know if its luck or not that it's so close to where I live. Certainly doesn't help me sleep much.

It only has three tables and eight chairs in the whole shop. It also never has less than two customers when I enter, no matter the time, and I always have to wait in line. At two in the morning! I mean honestly. I go in though, almost nightly, just to give me something besides this tired feeling, and the conversations with the barista are a relief even if they are short. The girl working last night, her name was Milly, or at least she calls herself Milly. She's innocent, sweet and naïve. I assume she gets taken advantage of a lot, I can't really say I haven't taken advantage of her nice nature to get more than a few discount coffee drinks. I like her though, she's always so bubbly, I mean after twenty eight hours without sleep that should really bother me but it doesn't. Maybe because she's pretty. I don't really know, but it is always nice when she's in.

Two other people work the night shift on a rotating basis. I don't like them much though. When they work I just go in and out quickly. They have nothing much to say, obviously they loath being awake all night. "Hey Milly." I greeted as I wandered up to the register, unable to resist smiling when she smiled at me. Monkey see monkey do, it's past fuckin' midnight.

She looked at me for a moment, her sweet little smile plastered on her face. Her blue eyes confirming the sincerity of such a smile. You know they say that eyes are the gateway to the soul. Stay up for two long and you start to over think everything. Will talk about that later, so where was I now? Oh yes Milly and the café. "Hello Clive," she greeted me in her normal overly bubbly tone of voice. I swear I don't know why I like her, I hate pretty girls. Which is a lie. "Your usual?"

I frowned at her as I thought, or at least I attempted to, at this point I wasn't sure if I could convey any emotion, I was so exhausted. You would think when you reach the point of exhaustion that you become a walking zombie you would be able to sleep. "Why not, can't sleep might as well be alert."

"Have you tried sleep aids?" She questioned as she walked over to a machine to start brewing espresso, "I know you've said you tried them before but I'm sure you haven't tried all of them. Or you can always go to a doctor, maybe they can figure out why you can't sleep."

I've tried every sleeping aid I could get my hands on. They didn't work. And I've been going to psychologists every week because it's mandatory, they've run medical tests, don't ask me what. Honestly it's probably psychosomatic. A symptom I've created based on guilt. At least they say it's based on guilt, I don't know how much I believe that part. I don't say this though, instead I nod and smile at her, "I'm not found of doctors, I'm sure I can manage. I mean my body has to give up and sleep at some point."

"I don't think that's a very good way to go around it, but it is your life." She handed me a cup filled with hot espresso, "I defiantly don't think you should be drinking that, maybe try some chamomile next time."

I already have, I think to myself. "You know you suggest that after you give me my drink every time." She really does, it doesn't make sense. I mean she wanted me to order it you'd think she'd suggest it before I ordered. I don't tell her this part, I don't want her to think I'm rude, I'm sure she already thinks I'm crazy or some drug addict. I feel like I'm losing my mind the less sleep I get. "I guess I'll try it next time." I won't. It wouldn't work anyways. At least I'm awake this way.

I swear that smile never disappears from her face, I wonder if it makes her face hurt ever. It takes more muscles to smile then to frown, I read that somewhere. "I'm sure it'll at least help you get some sleep."

It won't, or if it does it'll be for only an hour, or restless. You know what I just don't like sleeping anymore. It's pointless, who needs sleep. I end up thanking her for my drink, paying and leaving before the conversation changes to something I don't want to talk about. Like how my day was, I spent it at home with the shudders drawn. Or if I have a job, I don't, you try getting one with a confidential flag on your name for causing major damage that was covered up with people being told it was an earthquake triggering a gas leak that exploded underground. I don't know how anyone believes that. People are so willing to believe whatever you spoon-feed into their little heads.

I end up downing my two shots of espresso within moments of leaving the café, and instantly regretting not bringing more money on my walk with me. It's not like I don't have the money to spare, even after everything I've spent I still have a large sum of inheritance left. Most of the labor that went into making my underground London was slave labor, most of the supplies were stolen. I mean why buy what one could get for free. I swear in another life I would have been a street kid, actually I probably would have been one if it wasn't for Constance.

Never mind that. I don't like thinking about Constance. I'm sure I disappointed her. I know I must have, she always wanted me to grow up and be so respectable. Always bought me the finest clothes, albeit not always the most comfortable. She sent me to the best schools she could afford, lavished me with all my desires so long as I behaved. She wanted me to grow up and be a gentleman. Why do I find the idea of me being a gentleman so laughable? I'm sure Dimitri would too.

I think of Dimitri too much. The one person I feel bad for is Dimitri, I mean after my plan, the one person who I've used in my entire life that I actually feel some guilt for is him. I shouldn't, I hate myself for feeling bad for him. He is as responsible as anyone else for destroying my childhood, killing my parents. Yet I keep remembering how I used to see him across the street from that upscale boarding school Constance sent me to. I know he felt bad, I know he still feels bad. I hate the man. I hate him more for making me doubt my hate for him.

I stop in front of a house, or apartment of whatever it might be and look up to a window on the second store still lit with light and realize that I hate Dimitri even more for being awake too. I would love someone to talk to. I'm not sure if I would love that person to be him, and I feel bad for putting him through everything I have. You know even if he didn't realize what I was doing he still helped me kidnap scientists. Oh and the prime minister. Funny what people do for love, even if it is hopeless. Claire didn't even love him! Dimitri can be so pathetic.

I guess it's because I can't decide how I feel about him, whether I hate him or I like him. One way or another I don't go and knock on his door. It's not the first time I've come to his house and just left. It won't be the last time either. I just stand there for a while looking up at the one lit window until another room lights up then another and another and I relies he's coming downstairs to the door. I don't want to talk to him, or I do, but I don't. Before he opens the door I've already started running down the street, away from his house and by the point I hear him call my name I'm already close to the end of the block. Still I look back to see him standing in his doorway looking at me and I smile. I don't know why I do, but I do. Then I go back to running, until I get home.


	3. Reflection

I'm running late for my appointment with my therapist again, and honestly I really could care less. I wouldn't be going if it wasn't court mandated, and I don't really care what the court says anyways. What is the court going to do if I don't go weekly anyways, lock me up? Institutionalize me again? I don't know if I would prefer the loony bin or a jail cell at this point. I really would rather not have to go back to either of those places. So I go, once a week, sit in a chair and talk to a stranger about my life. I would think I would have more to say really but for the most part I just sit.

I know I'm not particularly anxious about arriving on time to my appointment but I still feel bad that I'm late. Also that I stopped for coffee on my way. My therapist doesn't bring either subject up; instead she smiles and waves me to a chair. "How has your week been?" I don't think she really cares to hear the answer to much. It's her job to listen, to ask, I'm paying her way too much for this complete nonsense.

I can't help but roll my eyes when I answer her ,"It's been a week." Rude. I really should treat her with respect. Constance would scold me if she knew I was behaving in this way. Constance. She'd be so disappointed with me. I run my hand threw my hair and look back up at my therapist laughing nervously, "I didn't sleep last night." This is only half true, I haven't actually slept in the last at all in the last thirty-six hours. She doesn't need to know this.

She studies me for a moment. She's already knows I need sleep, no amount of caffeine will hide my bloodshot eyes. "How much sleep have you managed to get since we've last talked?" Her voice seems distant, as she flips through a few papers in her hands. She's waiting for me to answer so she can calculate exactly how sleep deprived I am.

I can't help but yawn as I think about it, "Fifteen hours." For once I'm not lying, I last slept thirty-six hours ago for four hours. Before that I had been awake for forty-two hours, getting three hours previous to that and another three hours eight hours before then. Then let's see I had two hours of sleep after twenty hours of being awake and... actually I can't remember. I laugh to myself, "I think."

She writes something down before looking back up at me, "Have you tried taking the sleep aides I prescribed to you?"

"Yes." I'm back to lying. This whole thing is a joke I have spent more time lying to this woman who is supposed to help me then telling the truth. How is that meant to assist me? This is a joke.

She stares at me for a moment then sighs, "I can't help you if you won't let me."

I want to tell her I don't need help. That I'm doing just fine. But I even know it's not true, because if my memory serves me correctly last week I told her I had only slept twenty six hours, and I'm still capable of coming to the total of forty-one hours of sleep in the last 336 hours. Of course at this point I don't trust my memory or my math skills so I could be wrong. It's funny I've been so lost in thought that the session only has twenty minutes left, and I haven't spoken more than a few words. I guess it doesn't matter though when I look over at her she's writing notes down. If I didn't talk at all she'd still have enough to report back to that asylum. So long as it looks like I'm assimilating back into humanity I'll be fine. "If I agree to try some of the sleep aides this week can I leave early?" Sitting here is a waste of time, "I really want to get home and maybe take a nap." Or stare at the ceiling, either way it's less tedious then being here.

She sighs once more as she scribbles more notes, "I expect you to get more sleep by next week." She doesn't even look up at me, "You showed up ten minutes late and are leaving twenty minutes early." This time she looks up at me her eyes locking on to my bloodshot pair and she sighs again, "Go home and get some sleep Clive, will make up for lost time next week."

I know she's irritated with me, she looks and sounds concerned, but I'm sure it's an act. She can't make me think she's upset with me her job is to make me feel better. I don't really care though, if she's upset or not. I don't thank her I just kind of leave, and before I know it I'm back in that shitty little apartment that's supposed to be my home. Only I can't really call it home, I would be able to sleep if it was my home. I find myself laughing at how ridiculous the notion is. I really do need some sleep.

My bathroom is too small. Crammed. I really wish it was bigger. I open the cabinet behind the mirror and reach in for a bottle of pills. I have too many bottles, prescriptions I never take. Besides Insomnia nothing is wrong with me, I mean sure I had a mental breakdown but honestly I'm fine. I'm fine. "Which of these is the sleeping aide?" oh great now I'm talking to myself. I run my fingers across several bottles my eyes are too tired to focus on any of the labels. I don't know how long it takes for me to give up on the idea of taking anything but eventually I do. Maybe a bath will help. Besides my bathroom being small it can actually be nice. Or maybe I just like small spaces. Either way I spend more time running baths and never taking them then I do, doing anything else in this place.

I keep checking for the time only I'm not wearing a watch and there isn't a clock in my bathroom, so I have to walk out and to the kitchen nook in order to figure out that all of three minutes have passed since I last checked. I need better hobbies. Also a watch. Thirty-eight hours.

You know a bath doesn't really help. I hate water, more often than not I don't even bother to get in, just draw the water to drain the water. Gives me something to do. I want to sleep though so I decide to soak in it. Stare at the ceiling. There is a spider in the corner. I've taken to calling him Cornelius. He sits there feeding on his little bug friends and mocking me. At least I assume he's mocking me. He just sits there.

"Fuck you and your web. What do you even eat in here? No better yet how did you even get here? This is the third floor. There's not even a tree outside of any of my five windows." Yelling at a spider. I'm too desperate for one-sided conversation. "You know what forget it." I look away from Cornelius for a few moments and around the room, eventually looking back to him, "Did I ever tell you how much I hate being wet?" I pause for a moment. I know a spider isn't going to respond but it feels rude to just go on. "Well I do. It's just..." I pause and laugh, "I bet you're not much of a water fan either?" Of course the he doesn't respond but he does crawl up his web and closer to the ceiling. Maybe he doesn't want to talk. Wait what the hell it's a spider, he doesn't have a choice in the matter, he'll talk so long as I want him to. Wait…

"Am I really talking to a spider?" Who the hell am I even asking? "I need to go out." I need to get out of here talking to myself this much can't be healthy. This idea goes nowhere. I just don't have the motivation to get out of the bath, no matter how much I hate water. I'm too lazy. My skins going to prune. Why am I worrying about that? I sigh and look for something else to talk to, my eyes falling on my reflection and I find myself laughing again, "When I start talking to my reflection I'll know I've lost it." Still I don't look away. I look so tired. My eyes are so red. That can't be healthy. Even if my eyes weren't bloodshot they would still have those purple rings around them. Like Dimitri's. Oh great. I'll add that onto my list of reasons I need sleep.

I don't like my reflection. The more I look in the mirror the more I notice how bad I truly look. Didn't my skin used to hold more color? Maybe if I spent more time outside during the day and less inside with the windows closed it would look better. But it's not just my washed out complexion and my eyes that bother me, it's the expression on my face. Why am I smiling? I mean it's not a large smile but it's still there and I'm sure I'm more of frowning. But then the mirror, it's smiling at me. I close my eyes for a moment trying to block it out. "Just don't look in it." I tell myself as I quickly get out of the bath grabbing my towel and rushing out of the room.

I sit on my bed for a while, dripping dry. I know it was just my reflection but still, I swear I was not smiling. I need sleep. I lay on my stomach and gaze at the alarm clock on my end table. Thirty-nine hours awake. I close my eyes, not that it really helps much. One fluffy white sheep prancing through the gate. Two fluffy white sheep prancing through the gate. Three fluffy white sheep prancing through the gate. Four not going to put me to sleep because this task is so damn boring fluffy white sheep prancing through the stupid gate for no logical reason that I can possibly think to explain. Maybe they're being herded. But to where? And shouldn't there be a dog? Or at least a shepherd.

"This is not working!" I moan rolling onto my back eyes still shut tightly. Ok waterfalls. Calming. Cool air filled with mist covering the rocks and trees and plants around. Birds are in the trees above chirping in a soft melody. Moss covers rocks in the river and on the side, green on grey stones. There's the scent of wet rocks and some sweet flowery scent mixing in the air. Wet rocks? Is that the best I can come up with, really? Well whatever anyhow let's see, I'm sitting on the side of the water fall feet draped in the water feeling the current push against my legs, getting wet. Even the mist is slowly soaking my clothes, so uncomfortable. I hate being wet.

I sit up and open my eyes. I didn't sleep. Stupid sleeping exercise things. Well at least I'm dry now. Waterfalls, why do I even try there has to be another calming place to in vision myself besides a waterfall. I lay back down and closing my eyes once more. I'm in a room with a fire place. A nice warm, not wet fire place. And it smells like burning wood. Those flames so large so consuming. Eating everything they touch, everyone they touch. Fire always so gluttonous, so greedy. Eating away at everything. And then there's screaming in the background, no doubt about that, I can hear them. Shrieking, painful. When you die by being burned, you actually suffocate first, but not before feeling the flames dance across your skin burning your flesh. Maybe that's what I smell, burnt flesh, mixing with the burning wood. It's not a fireplace any more. It's a building and I'm watching it, watching everything burning.

I open my eyes and quickly sit up. No, I am not falling asleep to that. I've had enough nightmares in my life. I don't need this. I don't need to think of this. I should just take a pill. The ones I've tried in the past never worked but who knows maybe there is something in that cabinet that will knock me out. Only I still don't feel like looking in the mirror. Maybe I should just have some more coffee.


	4. Be Calm

I don't know how long I've been walking but I'm pretty sure I've passed the café. I should turn back but I'm not feeling very confident in my capability to judge whether or not I have indeed passed the café. I am however starting to feel very certain that I'm lost. I hate being lost. Especially at night. I'm sure I'm not that far from my apartment but I can't remember any of the street names that I've passed, and I don't recognize the street sign I just passed. Just because I'm lost doesn't mean I'll turn back though. I've already come so far. Plus I might have turned the wrong way after leaving my apartment and then I would have to retrace my steps all the way back to my apartment and passed. It seems so pointless. Plus I turned on a street and I don't remember which street it was. Truthfully I just don't want to go home. I know if I have to pass that place I'll give up on getting coffee and try to sleep again. Which will end the same way it did last time and I just don't want to deal with that. Does that make sense? I don't think it does? "Great I'm confusing myself now."

I can barely keep my eyes open and it doesn't help that at some point it got really dark. The street lamps on this street are all out. Every single one of them. The buildings don't look to nice either, quite a few are boarded up. The ones that aren't boarded up are still falling apart, chunks of them are scattered on the floor mixed with other debris. I don't think anyone even lives on this street. Which is actually a very unnerving thought. I'm alone. I hate being alone. Not that I like socializing much, but being alone is worse. I prefer more company then just my thoughts. I almost forgot where I was. Not that there is much to forget seeing as I never knew where I was to start with. Still I catch myself leaning against one of the still standing walls and looking at the smashed together floors of a house across from me. The entire wall facing me has been destroyed and I can look in at what should have been rooms, but instead they're a stack of ceilings and floors. I don't know what causes this kind of damage; everything looked fine just down the block.

I really should continue walking. Get out of here. But I don't have enough energy. I can't fall asleep but I'm barely awake. How does that even work? I know I won't be sleeping tonight, but I can't. It's cold. I don't know why I didn't grab a coat. That's not true I was supposed to have coffee by now. Be in a café, warm, no coat needed. Yet I'm still here leaning against a run down wall spacing out. There's something oddly familiar about this place. I just can't figure out what. It makes me feel sick though, being here. I… I can't stay here.

I keep getting so lost in thought. It seems like I'm some place new every time I stop. I catch myself running. Not that I fully understand why. I'm just glad I finally left that place. I'm still lost though. I really need to find myself. Where am I? This place. I can't be lost, I remember these streets. How does this happen. It's funny I've stopped running, stopped walking. I'm just standing here but the worlds still spinning. You know the world is constantly spinning. Even though you don't feel it we're always in motion. I can feel it right now. I swear I can. So slowly barely noticeable but it's there and spinning, moving. Then it just stops.

The scariest thing I have heard all night is my own laughter. I don't when I started but I am. Laughing. I don't know at what, but I certainly am laughing. Grinning. I'm losing my mind. I can feel it, and it's the most horrifying feeling. I'm more lost in my own mind then I am in these streets. I need coffee. I need sleep. I need to know the time. I need to breathe. "You need to calm down Clive." The sound of my voice startles me a bit. The eerie silence of my surroundings being interrupted. It's almost wrong. "I can't stand the silence anymore."

"It's making me lose my mind even more. I feel like I'm dreaming but it's too cold." I laugh more. "It's ok once I find the café everything will clear up." Great now I'm lying to myself. There is no way that this is going to get better with coffee. I need to close my eyes for a moment, rest them. Only opening them back up is difficult and once I manage to get them open I feel like I'm squinting. And I'm getting this headache from the strain. Or lack of sleep. Maybe both. I'll take something when I get home. After coffee.

When my eyes finally adjust I spot a street sign. One that I recognize. Finally I don't feel so lost. I take a moment to take a deep breath. I can get to the café from here. Though I don't know how I managed to get here. It's a decent walk from my apartment. Has to be about an hour's walk, I'm sure of it. Not that my certainty should count for much. I take another breath and smile with relief, everything's clearing up. "I can get back. I'm still me." Who else would I be? That doesn't matter. I can't lose concentration right now. Where was I? Oh yeah walking home. No wait, to the café. Strange I had to pass it to get here.

It's strange when you reach the level of fatigue in which while walking down the street it seems like the buildings are passing you instead of the opposite. There all Victorian townhouses. Packed together. I'm not positive on the colors but I'd guess pastel, it's too dark to tell. Streetlights lined perfectly spaced, as one would assume, along the side of the streets. Every light in the houses off. It must be late. What time is it? Why don't I have a watch? I used to have a watch. I can feel my heartbeat quicken the more I think about the time. Moreover the fact I don't know the time. I have ridiculous fears when I'm running on sleep deprivation.

I run my right hand through the hair on the back of my head and take another deep breath. "Concentrate." I've found I like ordering people around. Not so much being ordered around. I have no idea how I feel about ordering myself around though. I do not want to lose my sanity. The less sleep I get the more I feel like I'm losing myself though. "Stop." More ordering myself around. Maybe it'll work, "Concentrate on going to coffee." I run my hand through the back of my hair again, "You are not going insane. You just need coffee." Sleep. I need sleep, not coffee. I think I may be arguing with myself. Great.

Where am I? I got lost in thought again. I stop walking and look around. Have I passed it? No. Not enough time has passed for me to have passed it. In fact I'm still on the same street. Right? I look around to find a street sign, it can't be right though. This street looks the same as the other one. Why does everything have to look so similar! No wonder I got lost earlier. These houses all look exactly the same as the other street. I hate conformity. That's a lie. I like some elements of conformity. Some. Not identical houses and streets. I'm far to sleep deprived for everything to look this similar. Not that it matters much I just need to see the street sign. Though it's hard to focus on street signs in the dark. I keep having to blink several times to clear my vision in order to focus. This is killing me. Doesn't matter as long as I can read the signs though. I'm going in the right direction.

I can smell the coffee. Or I'm delusional and it's a form of an olfactory hallucination. Which is kind of worrisome. I'm pretty sure it's the café though. The next street sign I see confirms this. That walk went faster than expected. Or not, seeing as if I hadn't passed the shop and gotten lost I would probably be back at home by this point. It wasn't a bad walk though. That's a lie. It was a pretty bad walk. I got lost. I laugh to myself again shoving my hands into my pockets and enter the café at long last.

It's odd how comforting it can be walking into a familiar place. Puts my mind at rest. My eyes don't want to adjust to the yellow glow of the shop. I have to blink several times before they adjust. Even then everything seems hazy, as if I'm looking through some distorted surface. I rub my eyes to clear my vision. Its ineffective for the most part but after closing my eyes for a moment I finally get them to focus. Of course another customer is now staring at me. Nosey judging asshole. Ignoring him I walk up to the cash register. Standing behind two other customers of course. I'm always waiting in line here. Honestly how does that even work. Really.

Because I need sleep, and my night wasn't bad enough already, both fellow customers take their time conversing with the barista working tonight's shift. Not that I have anything better to do then stand in line. I use the wait to look at the clock hanging on the back wall, I haven't checked the time in a while. 45 hours. I was walking for six hours? It didn't seem that long.

When I finally get to the register the Barista offers me one of his fake smiles, "What would you like tonight Clive?" I can tell by the way he says my name that he doesn't want to be here. Also that he hates me for coming in every night thus insuring he will in fact continue to have to work the night shift.

His names James. Not that he's ever told me that, nor have I ever asked. It's just printed on his name tag. "Espresso." I return his fake smile, looking from his name tag to his eyes. They're not even bloodshot. Why is he so upset about a night shift when he gets to sleep. He has no idea how lucky he is. All I want right now is to get some sleep. Not that that will happen.

James and his attitude push some buttons, take my money and get off to making my beverage. I am now left to lean against a wall and staring at the other four people in the shop. Four people who manage to take up all three of the tables this place has. I find myself running my hand through my hair again and looking at the man who was judging me when I first walked in. He's got an easel set up on the table and all these different paint tubes scattered around on that small table. Artists, that's one kind of person whose up at odd hours of the night I guess. I don't like him.

"Clive, drinks up." I hate how much James seems over his job. Also the way he watches as I take my drink and doesn't look away until I pretend to sip it. Now that I have coffee I don't even want to drink it. Actually its espresso. There is a difference I'm sure of it. I just can't quite remember what it is at the moment. I would love to sit at one of the tables at the moment however the other man sitting by himself has taken three chairs to lay down on and has about five empty cups on the table in front of his makeshift bed. Lucky asshole is actually sleeping. In a coffee shop. Who does that? I don't like him either.

I down my espresso and move my gaze to the last table where a man and a woman sit. Lovers I presume. All they do is look into each other's eyes and laugh at what I assume are jokes of some kind. I don't really understand why they can't do that at home. Everyone here is so frustrating. Then again maybe I'm just irritable because I'm tired. I don't care. I hate them all. And I'm over waiting for a table. I'm over everything. This caffeine isn't waking me up. It isn't doing anything. I just want to sleep. I should go home. I need to go home. I don't want to go home. I'm going home.


End file.
